Why? It's because of his kisses. Those sweet, sour, gentle, hard, hot, fiery kisses. It's the way his lips feel against your lips, how they suck all of the air out of you, leaving you breathless, but still begging for more. It's the way they feel on your skin, how the wet trail, that goes from neck to nuts, causes every muscle underneath your skin to tingle with anticipation, and causes your lips to go dry from the heat of it all. Your head is so fuzzy with desire that you wouldn't know your ass from a hole in the ground.

Loving Heero is like being on a heroin high.

Again you ask? It's because of his touch. It's those hands, you see, that can be gentle, caring, caressing, rough, and downright brutal. He can bend steel with ease but wouldn't dare lift a finger to harm you in any way. His touch is tender as he strokes your face, unbraids your hair, almost purring to himself as he runs his fingers through it, then rips your clothes off, seeming to devour you with his hands. This adds to your already high-induced mind as he massages every part of your body. Pleasure clouds your mind and senses, leaving you helpless and weak. Your body convulses, you scream your voice raw, your eyes roll up in your head as one climax after another hits you, sender you higher and higher.

Loving Heero is like being on a heroin high.

Are you sure you want to know? It's because he's addictive. Everything he does, he does too well. It's the way he cooks. It's the way he cleans. It's the sex. Anything at all. When he leaves, you become a vegetable; seeing nothing, hearing nothing, not giving a damn about anything else. The world could go to hell in a wicker handbasket and you wouldn't notice. You pace your room and scrape at your skin from the withdrawal, pleading to whatever almighty entity to give you what you have to have, or else die from the lack thereof. You need a hit of him twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, all year long. You can't ever be satiable. He's in your bloodstream.